


the tears of pearls

by TheLadyBlakeney



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, some mentions of alcoholism and child neglect/abuse, this au is perfect for batcat you can't change my mind, various other characters but those r the main ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 13:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15708390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyBlakeney/pseuds/TheLadyBlakeney
Summary: “You have to admit the resemblance is uncanny,” Bullock said, sitting down next to Selina.  “Have you ever thought about it?”“What - that I could be Bruce Wayne?”Bruce Wayne disappeared the night that his parents were killed.  Four and a half years later, Alfred Pennyworth issues a reward for whoever could find him and bring him back home.  Selina Kyle sees an opportunity.or, the anastasia au that absolutely nobody asked for





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> quick note: i play very fast and loose with canon for both gotham and also vaguely dc
> 
> shoutout to my friend hannah for beta'ing this and for letting me make her watch gotham
> 
> basically all of this was written to the anastasia obc soundtrack bye

Her boots thudded dully against the alleyway pavement.  Fine, rare moonlight drifted down from the sky, passing through laundry hanging from clotheslines, shining off of the fire escapes, dripping onto the dirty ground.  She cut through the smoke that drifted through the alley. A crumpled newspaper fluttered at her feet, and she kicked it out of the way. Only moments later, on the back of a small breeze, another copy of the paper flew into her jacket, and she scowled as she tried to paw it off.

She paused when she caught a glimpse of the headline, and smoothed the thin sheet of paper in her hands, careful not to rip it.  The article came from yesterday’s newspaper, and the black ink had started to smudge from the vague rainfall that had occurred earlier that morning.  A few drops of the ink ran as she did so, and she hissed as she turned the newspaper so that they ran down the side rather than blurring the text. Then she keenly began to scan the first line of the article.

As she read on, a voice whispered inside of her head.  She sometimes made up names for different voices (Silver for the one that she hated, the one that made her doubt herself).  She liked to call this voice Nine. Nine always knew which opportunities to take.

She carefully folded the paper and stuffed it into the inside of her jacket, and her lips curled into something more dangerous than a smile as she continued on her way.

 

“Selina?!”

“Good to see you, too, Bullock,” she said, stepping past him into the cluttered apartment, wrinkling her nose as she did so.  “Did something die in here...or is that just how you smell?”

“Cat,” he said, already sounding annoyed, and she immediately felt satisfied.

“I have a proposition for you,” she said, cutting off whatever he was about to say.  “Guaranteed to get the both of us out of Gotham. You want in?”

“And what did you have in mind, huh?”  He grabbed a half-empty bottle off of the table.

She drew out the bit of newspaper from the inside of her jacket, unfolded it, and tossed it on the table, ignoring the former detective in favor of digging through his fridge to find the bottle of milk she found on the top shelf.

She sat across from Bullock at the tiny table.  In another life, it would have been quite decently-sized, but it was so completely overflowing with papers and files and empty bottles of beer that in its current state it only managed to be a notch above pitiful.  

The lazy yellow light swung above them as the train passed by.

Eventually, he looked up from the article, with his eyebrows raised, which didn’t seem to bother her quite as much as he thought it should.

“And how do you plan on pulling this off, huh?”  His voice dropped to a disbelieving hiss. “Boy billionaires don’t exactly grow on trees, you know.”

He hadn’t said no.

“You were the detective on the case.”

“Yeah, and never solved it.  Thanks for the reminder, by the way,” he said, sarcastically raising his bottle to her in a mock toast before downing it.

“I’m not asking you to solve it,” Selina snapped.  

The lazy yellow light swung.

“I’m asking you to come up with a plausible backstory for some lookalike I find, explaining how he escaped.  Where he’s been the past four years. Trick the old man, then split the cash.”

She can hear the gears starting to tick in his head and so she leans back as he reads over the article again, taking a long swig from the milk bottle in her hands.

He hated everything about it.

“...this could work,” he admitted.

She raised her eyebrows, and smiled thinly, nodding at him.  

He leaned back.  “It’s your con, Cat.  How d’you want to play it?”

Her smile grew sharper.

 

* * *

 

**THE PRINCE OF GOTHAM: ALIVE OR DEAD?**

 

Alfred Pennyworth, heir to the Wayne fortune and CEO of Wayne Enterprises, is offering a reward to anyone able to locate Bruce Wayne, the missing heir to the late Thomas and Martha Wayne.  The young Wayne heir disappeared the night that his parents were killed, though no proof of his survival has ever come forward, and the killer was never caught.

In the boy’s stead, Mr. Pennyworth was given control of Wayne Enterprises and inherited the Wayne fortune, a controversial move determined by the couple’s lawyer and executor of their will, Mr. Lucius Fox.

However, Mr. Fox noted at the time that the company, while indeed the property of Mr. Pennyworth, was to be passed on to Bruce Wayne upon his 18th birthday, leading some to believe that his decision to grant control of all of the Wayne’s assets to Mr. Pennyworth was made in the belief that the young Wayne heir would eventually return.  Sources also suggest that this is perhaps the reason why a reward is only being offered now, four years after the Wayne’s murders and their child’s subsequent disappearance. Indeed, as the missing heir’s 18th birthday approaches, it is possible that the company will be sold to the highest bidder.

Mr. Pennyworth currently resides in Metropolis and could not be reached for comment.

Anyone with information concerning Bruce Wayne’s whereabouts should contact the following number:

 

* * *

 

The boy in the alley tore up the paper, and fed it to the small fire he’d managed to scrape together.  It wouldn’t last for long, not with everything slightly damp from the rain earlier that morning. That was fine.  He wasn’t expecting to stay for long.

He wasn’t expecting Ivy.

She showed up anyway, settling in at his side like a thorn on a stem.  He and Ivy didn’t fit together. They never had, and now they certainly never would.  He’d never quite forgive her, and she’d never quite apologize.

“Matches,” she said in the way of greeting.

“Ivy.”

She stayed silent, stepping closer to him and he immediately shifted a step away.  She either pretended not to notice or didn’t care as she warmed her hands over the fire.  “You still looking to get out of Gotham?”

“Everyone is, Ivy.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, I know, _idiot_.  I came to tell you that I found you a way out.”

He didn’t freeze.  Not quite.

“What do you mean?”

“I have a friend.  She’s on her way to Metropolis.  If you find her, book your trip with her.  She’s good for it.”

"What's the catch?"

“What catch?”

“There's always a catch, Pamela,” he snapped.  “Even you aren’t stupid enough to not know that.”

“Shut up, _Clark_.”

He glared as he frowned at her.  “That’s not my name.”

“No more than Pamela’s mine,” she growled, her eyes glinting dangerously.

Her hard eyes locked onto his, until he sighed and said, “I’m sorry, Ivy.”

They returned to considering the fire, and watched as the shadows played against the tunnel entrance nearby.

“Consider this me apologizing screwing things up with your sister,” Ivy said.  “Paying my debt.”

He turned to her and scrutinized her eyes.  Ivy was a good liar, just like he was. They all had to be, out here.

He nodded.

“Her name’s Selina, but she goes by Cat.  She’s squatting out in Wayne Manor. You know where that is?”

He shook his head.

She motioned to him to give her his hand and she pulled out a pen, scrawling directions on his palm just legibly enough to be useful.

She was about to leave when she called out to him.

“Matches?  I hope you find her.”

He nodded at her, and she disappeared into the red-tinted smog, her hair flashing bright fiery red.

When the fire was just ash and Ivy was long gone, Matches crawled into the window of the apartment he’d been squatting in.  It had been abandoned for a while now, inside of a condemned building, but it was still preferable to the bridge he’d been sleeping under for the past few months.

He fetched the small wooden box from under his bed, taking out a notebook filled with tiny, neat handwriting and copying down the directions Ivy’d left on his hand.

When he had finished, he hesitated before reaching into the box again, pulling out a locket.

It held a picture of his foster mother who he’d never met.  She’d died of health problems years back.

The locket was Karen’s.  Karen Jennings, who taught him how to protect himself, who’d shielded him from her father's alcoholism and temper.  Karen, who’d disappeared during the crisis that had cut Gotham off from the rest of the world. Karen, who’d been injured in the chaos of it all and needed emergency medical assistance, like so many others.

Ivy.

Matches, who couldn’t leave.

But if Ivy was telling the truth, he thought as he ran the chain over his fingers, then this was his chance.  He’d find Karen. He’d be out of Gotham and its stinking streets, home again with the only family he’d ever known.

He fell asleep with his fingers curled around the locket, unaware of just how much family he would find.


	2. chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again shoutout to hannah for beta'ing this, to whom i owe my life

 

It would have been easier to go through the front gate, down the gravel path to the entrance of Wayne Manor.

Too easy.

It was too easy to be seen, and no matter how much Ivy had vouched for Selina, he couldn’t shake the instinct to slip over the back wall instead and make his way through the extensive garden.  

His gaze quickly locked onto a full-length window.  Easy to access, close to the ground level.

He quickly picked the lock, then returned the tools to his pocket.  He tested it out gently, turning the golden handle under his threadbare fingerless gloves.

A soft, golden curtain shimmered in the breeze as he entered the room.

It was a study, filled to the brim with books.  He picked one off of the shelf at random and dusted it off, and automatically sat down at the massive oak desk at the end of the room.  He thumbed through the pages, not even reading them. It was so long since he’d held a real book in his hands like this. His notebook, tucked safely inside a pocket he’d sewn into the inside of his jacket, didn’t really count.

He turned his attention to the desk, but as he turned, he caught a glimpse of a box, sitting on the mantle above the fireplace.

Something about it felt so achingly familiar that he rose to his feet, and slowly moved towards it.  

He raised the lid up softly, and raised the crinkled piece of newspaper out of it, smoothing it out as well as he could without tearing it.

A faded black-and-white picture sat next to the screaming words that seemed burnt into the page.

**WAYNES MURDERED!  SON MISSING!**

He had just moved his gaze to the photo when the paper was snatched out of his hands.  

He flinched and grabbed his knife, only to notice that the stranger across from him had done the same.

“What are you doing here?” she growled at him.

He raised his hands in a gesture of peace, hoping that this was Selina.  Otherwise. Well. He knew exactly where the exit was.

“I’m a friend of Ivy’s” he said.  “She sent me.”

The stranger considered him with narrowed eyes.  

After a long moment, she relaxed her stance, looking less like a feral cat ready to attack.

“She did, huh?”

“She said you can get me out of Gotham.”

She snorted as she turned to the mantle.  “She must have gotten more stupid since I last saw her.  I can’t help you.”

Matches could feel his heart grow heavier.  Of course it wouldn’t work.

Selina felt bad for the kid. She really did.  She’d seen the hope in his eyes that he’d tried to hide.

She was about to place the clipping back in the box when a flash of black-and-white caught her eye, and she drew the fragile thin paper closer.

She held it up to the light, and compared the photograph to the living boy in front of her.

“What?” he asked, brow furrowed in confusion. Her eyes had lost their smirking glint and something like keenness had entered instead.

Selina exhaled, the shock slowly leaving her as she accepted what was staring her in the face.  

This boy was a dead ringer for Bruce Wayne.

She blinked, and then let her air of practiced disinterest take over her again.

She turned back to him.  “You know what, kid? Wait here.”

She stepped out into the hall and bellowed “BULLOCK!”

She returned to the study, and settled down on one of the couches, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table.

Per her instructions, the boy hadn’t moved.  Worse, he hadn’t sat down, instead remaining frozen like a pained-looking statue.  

“Jeez, sit down, will ya?” she said, frowning.

He moved to the couch opposite her, and she saw a glint of silver as his knife disappeared somewhere into his jacket.  He looked guarded, which made sense.

She stuck her hand out for him to shake.

It was a peace offering, and she saw his eyes flick up to meet hers.

“Selina Kyle,” she said.  “You can call me Cat.”

“Matches,” he replied.

“Ain’t ya got more of a name than that?”

“Not one that’s mine,” he replied, shifting his gaze to somewhere over her left shoulder.

The door to the study banged open, and an irritable-looking Bullock entered, barking out, “ _WHAT_ , CAT?!”

He froze as he saw Matches sitting on the couch opposite from Selina.

“And who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Selina rolled her eyes.  “Sit down, Harvey.”

“Cat, I’m not messing around, who is - ”

She thrusted the newspaper clipping into his hands.

“Oh.”

Bullock looked down at the photo of a 12 year old Bruce Wayne smiling for the school yearbook back up to the kid sitting on a couch in the middle of the Wayne Manor.

“Damn.”

“See, Bullock and I are getting out of Gotham,” Selina cut in, leaning forward.  “And we have three tickets. Unfortunately, the third ticket is for Bruce Wayne.”

She snatched the newspaper from Bullock’s hands and held it out to Matches.

After a moment’s hesitation, he took it from her and gazed down at the photograph.

He looked up at the two across from him, Selina, who leaned back with a grin on her face, and Bullock, who looked smug.

“You have to admit the resemblance is uncanny,” Bullock said.  “Have you ever thought about it?”

“What - that _I_ could be Bruce Wayne?”  He folded his arms. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t freeze at nights and have hot water.  Does that count?”

“You said you don’t have a name,” Selina said.  “What do you mean?”

He stayed silent.

She raised her eyebrows.

“They found me wandering around Gotham about four and a half years ago.  I have amnesia.”

Selina smirked, almost disbelievingly.

“The orphanage gave me the name Clark Malone.”  His gaze flicked from Selina to Bullock. “Any other questions?”

Selina cast a quick look over at Harvey.

She leaned forward, the movement carefully tailored to be non-threatening, and made deliberate eye contact with the boy in front of her.  He was hardened, wary, unwilling to trust anyone. So she spoke with absolute candor. Not pushing. He had to think this was his idea.

“Look, you don’t know who you are or what happened to you.  And no one knows what happened to him. And if there’s a chance that you turn out to be him, wouldn’t it be worth it?”

She watched as his eyes flicked down, as he considered it.

He hesitated before saying slowly, “If I come with you, and if it turns out that I’m _not_ Bruce Wayne, then it’s all just an honest mistake.”

Selina grinned.  She had him, she knew it.

“When do we leave?”

 

The next morning, Selina walked past the study, only to find the door slightly ajar.  There was nothing to show that anyone had slept there last night.

(Selina had offered him a bed, and they’d even gone into one of the rooms, but he’d frowned and said he hadn’t slept on anything that soft in months.  She’d scoffed, ‘Whatever, weirdo,” but privately she’d sympathized. Same thing had happened to her a couple of times. So she’d walked away and left it alone.)

She walked further down to the kitchen, but as she opened the door, she caught a whiff of something cooking and she curiously poked her head in.

Matches was stirring eggs around with a spatula, and greeted her with a nod.

“I didn’t think you’d be up yet,” he said evenly.

She shrugged and grabbed an apple.  “I didn’t use to wake up early. Bad habit.”

“Says the thief.”

“Yeah, like you’re any better.”  She took a bite from the apple. “How’d you know?”

“It’s fairly obvious,” he said, shrugging.  “I can generally read people pretty well. And you clearly took money from Bullock’s wallet when he wasn’t looking.”

“He knows I take it and doesn’t even do anything about it,” she said, rolling her eyes.  “So I figure it’s his fault.”

He divided the eggs onto two plates and handed one to her.  She paused, before accepting it, along with the fork he held out to her.

He sat down at the kitchen table, and it was so oddly peaceful between the morning sunlight and soft clinking of cutlery against plates that Selina felt like shaking herself.  Her life wasn’t meant for this kind of comfort. Her mother had seen to that when she’d abandoned that curly-haired five-year-old girl inside that store.

Selina angrily fetched her milk jug from the icebox, downing a large gulp quickly.

She was aware of Matches’ gaze on her, but he didn’t say anything, and whatever that moment was or might’ve turned into ended when Bullock appeared in the kitchen.

“Damn, you two are up already?”

He disappeared into the fridge, rummaging around for something with a few muffled curses.

The kitchen again became a cheerful place, objects clattering in the soft yellow of morning.

 

“Who were the founding families of Gotham?”

“The Waynes, Kanes, Crownes, and Elliots.”

“When were you born?”

“February 19th.”

“ _Where_ were you - ”

“Bullock,” Selina cut in.  “He knows everything you’re going to ask.”

“Fine.  If he messes it up, you can’t blame me.”

“Why don’t you go and  figure out something else to test him on?” she asked sweetly.

He glared at her.  “You’re right. It’s time that we teach him to dance.  Get on your feet, Selina.”

Bullock snorted at the look on her face.  “We’ve already taught him the correct way to serve a 9-course French meal.  He’ll read any book you put in front of him. What is there left except dancing?”

“I’m sure there’s more to being a rich person than dancing.”

“There’s really not,” Bullock said, grabbing her by the elbow and yanking her to the closest empty-ish room.  He beckoned Matches to follow them, and the coward did it, despite Selina’s glare.

“Now put your hand on his shoulder,” Bullock said, “and your hand on _her_ waist.  Now hold each other’s _other_ hands and _waltz_ , kiddos.  Which I _know_ you know how to do, Selina.”

She starts it off, but she’s surprised when Matches immediately steps back and follows her effortlessly, until somehow he takes over, and they spin around the room in kind of a purpled daze.  The sun began to set and their shadows danced and bounced off of the walls.

She looked into his eyes.

Her eyes were infinitely deep, just like earlier.

They slowed.  “I’m getting dizzy,” she said.

“Me, too,” he murmure, staring down at her.

“Maybe we should stop.”

“We have stopped.”

Selina felt as though they were still spinning.

Bullock whistled from his corner.  “Well, looks like I don’t need to teach you after all.  Where’d you learn how to dance like that?”

Selina broke away out of Matches’ arms as if suddenly conscious that she was still there, and Harvey didn’t miss something like sadness flicker over the boy’s face, for only a second before it disappeared.

“I don’t know,” Matches admitted.

“Huh.”  Harvey shrugged.  “Get some sleep tonight, both of you.  We leave tomorrow for Metropolis.”

He left, and Selina quickly followed, until it was just Matches left in the chalky purple of dusk.

 

After she woke up in the grey that comes before dawn, Selina dressed quickly.  She couldn’t find her jacket, and when she checked the empty room next to the study, she couldn’t find it there either.  But she couldn’t wait any longer.

Her boots hit the slightly dew-covered ground, and she took off for her favorite tree.

It was thick and winding, and just close enough to the ground for her to climb easily.

The dawn came, and she felt the light filter through the leaves of the tree, and the weak warmth that it brought.  They hadn’t gotten snow for a while, but she was still shivering, and she grit her teeth and wished she’d known where her jacket was.

As it was, she dropped out of the tree when it proved to be too cold to stay out for any longer.  She headed back to the house, and the sun was fully up now, glinting off of the study’s doors. She headed straight to the kitchen, where she was met by the sight she’d grown accustomed to, of Matches preparing breakfast.

She sighed in relief as she spotted her jacket slung over her seat at the table.  She walked past Matches, and immediately slipped it on, making a humming sound of appreciation.

“Cold?”

She turned to see Matches, one of those tiny, soft smiles on his face.

“It’s freezing outside,” she huffed, stealing a piece of toast from the plate.

“I was fixing the sleeve, it had a large rip in it at the elbow.  Sorry.”

She inspected the sleeve and sure enough, there was a tidy row of stitches.

“Thanks.”

He set down three plates at the table, and Selina sliced up a banana as she subtly studied the boy in front of her.  He was quiet and wary, but he also had an odd sort of grace about him that he hadn’t gotten from the streets of Gotham.

Selina became very aware of how little she knew about Matches.  Why he wanted to get out of Gotham, where he’d gotten the name Matches.

She shook her head and turned to her toast, spreading marmalade across it with her knife.  She didn’t need to know anything about Matches. This was just a con.

Though the windows, the soft yellow morning light began to trickle in.


	3. chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for the time gap between chapter updates: i've been really busy with schoolwork and my theatre work - at one point i was working on three different productions at the same time for weeks at a time. that being said, thank you so much for the positive feedback, there should be more regular updates soon! shoutout always to hannah for beta'ing this

The floor beneath her feet swayed gently.  The boat’s horn sounded as they slowly drifted closer to the docks.

The gangplank thudded as it met the dock, and Selina left the boat for the city that—for better or for worse—would determine her future.

Metropolis looked nothing like Gotham.

Everything was shinier here.  Brighter.

She turned over her shoulder to look at Matches.  He was taking in the city, eyes sharp and wary, just like hers.

Her curls blew gently in the breeze.

Bullock clambered off of the gangplank and Selina rolled her eyes.

He stepped in front of them and strided forward with ease, calling back to them, “This way.”

Selina and Matches exchanged a glance, and followed.

Selina eyed the other pedestrians as they followed in Bullock’s wake.  Everyone looked much better dressed than they did, which was not surprising.  There were a few stares, but Selina glared at them and they all quickly looked away.

She was harder, darker than them.  A wolf in a flock of sheep.

She smiled to herself.

She subtly quickened her pace so that she was astride of Bullock.

“So, where are we headed?”

“No one gets to see Pennyworth without first going through the guy we’re going to go see.  I know him from a while back. He works in private security and is basically the old man’s confidant as far as I can tell.  He left Gotham during the big mess, evacuating people, and stayed here to help all of the refugees get settled and then just never came back .”

“How’d you get his address?”  Matches asked, appearing on Bullock’s right side.

“What can I say?  If there’s one thing I can do, I can find people.  This way.”

He sharply turned right and Matches and Selina followed as he entered the apartment building.  They took the stairs to the fifth floor, Harvey lagging slightly behind.

When they arrived at Apartment 5227, Selina and Matches hung back as Harvey knocked on the door.

A man opened the door, confusion clear on his face.

“Jim!”

The look on his face shifted into annoyance and he tried to slam the door shut, but Bullock jammed his foot between the door and frame.

“Jim, I have a good reason for being here, please, can we just talk?”

The man rolled his eyes but opened the door anyway, and walked away.

Selina heard Harvey mutter something that could have been “asshat” under his breath as they followed Jim into the apartment.

The apartment was cold, spartan.  It felt like Gotham.

Selina quickly took in Jim Gordon.  He was a product of Gotham, all right.  Hard-edged, with a distinct look of anger hiding just beneath the surface of his skin.  A distinct look of distrust in his eyes.

Jim’s eyes flickered to meet hers and she could tell that he was doing the same thing she had done to him.

Assessing how big of a threat she was.

His eyes turned back to Bullock.  “What are these kids doing here, Harvey?”

Selina bristled.

“That’s what I want to talk about,” Harvey said, cutting in before Selina could say anything.

“May I introduce Bruce Wayne?”

Selina watched as Jim turned to scrutinize Matches before turning back to Bullock and flatly asking, “Is this a joke?”

“Why?  Because it’s me?”  There was anger in his voice now, and Selina reevaluated what she knew of Bullock.

Jim fell silent before turning to Matches, and extended his hand to him.  Matches shook it: firmly, politely, easily.

“We should probably all sit,” Jim said, gesturing to the couch behind them.  “Please.”

“I’m sure you have seen many others claiming to be Bruce Wayne,” Matches said.  “I appreciate your willingness to meet with me.”

Jim cracked a small smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“When were you born?”

* * *

 

Selina watched the clock on the wall through half-lidded eyes.  Jim had been asking Matches question after question for what seemed like ages.

“Now if you don’t mind me asking,” Jim said.  “How did you manage to escape the alley the night that your parents were killed?”

Without hesitating, Matches said, “There was a girl...a girl on the fire escape.”

“The fire escape?”

“The gunman pointed the gun at me after he killed them, but he didn’t shoot,” Matches said, the last golden rays of sun hitting his face, his hair.  “He walked away. But then he turned and aimed at me and he smiled. But then the girl grabbed me and we ran across the rooftops. And then - then I don’t remember.”

He smiled vaguely.  “That sounds so foolish.  Two kids jumping across rooftops.”

Jim smiled thinly.  “Believe it or not, that’s not the strangest one I’ve heard.”  He nodded at Harvey. “Harvey, a word?”

Once the two men were out of earshot in Jim’s bedroom, Harvey raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“He answered everything correctly,” Jim said, with his arms folded.  “But Alfred won’t see him.”

“The old man won’t _see_ him?!  Then what was the point in grilling the kid?”

“It was a favor to you,” Jim hissed.  “Alfred didn’t want to keep holding onto hope.  And honestly? I don’t blame him. I’ve seen so many come in here, so many kids, earnest, proper, clearly after money.”  
“Not my kid.”

Jim met his gaze and then broke it and sighed.

“No.”

“Jim, listen, you know I’m not an honest man.  Never really have been, and definitely won’t ever be one.  But that kid out there, he doesn’t want the money. And I know you can see that.”

Jim looked at him for a long few moments before quietly saying, “The annual Wayne Foundation fundraiser is tomorrow.  Alfred gives a speech there every year. Eight o’clock p.m. Dress nicely, and I’ll get you in.”

Harvey’s face broke into a grin.  “You won’t regret this, Jim.”

“And how many times have you said that again?” Jim asked, a small, wry smile on his face.  “Go on and tell them the news.”

When Harvey returned to the living room, he saw only Matches, sitting incredibly still, as if he was holding onto his last breath and couldn’t exhale.

“Relax, kid,” Bullock said.  “You’ll have your moment to shine tomorrow at eight p.m.”

A small smile made its way onto the kids’ face, one that he tried to hide but couldn’t quite manage to do so.

“Selina’s out on the roof,” he said, answering Bullock’s unsaid question.  “She said she needed some air.”

Bullock rolled his eyes.  “Teenagers and their damn theatrics,” he said without any heat as he clambered out the window onto the fire escape.

The sun had set, only the last of the greyish-purple remaining in the sky, and that, too, would disappear in a matter of minutes.

“We did it!”

“We found Bruce Wayne,” Selina said softly, staring at the skyline across the bay.  At Gotham.

“I know!  That kid is something else, he answered every question brilliantly - ”

“No, you don’t get it,” Selina said, cutting him off, before turning to face Bullock.  “I was that girl. The one on the fire escape. The one that helped him escape.”

Bullock could swear that at that moment, all of Metropolis went silent.

“Then...if he’s really Bruce Wayne...we’re really doing a good thing.  Reuniting him and the old man.”

He snorted.  “Who’d have ever thought you and I would ever end up knowingly doing something good like this?”

She didn’t reply, still staring across the bay.

“Benefit’s at eight o’clock tomorrow.  Jim said to dress nicely. I figure he can probably wrangle that kid into something and I have excellent taste when I have the dough to back it up.  I figure you’ll be fine on your own.”

She turned to him, and smirked.

“Of course.  I love to shop.”


	4. chapter four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been suffering because of school, and i'm v sorry! (for real, there should be more updates soon) but here we are!! gotham comes back today, baby!!!!!! shoutout to hannah for being the best of friends and beta'ing this.

 

Bullock rapped twice on the door sharply before barking, “Selina!”

“What!”

“It’s nearly 7:30, we’re gonna be late!”

“Yeah, well it takes a long time for me to get ready!”

“You only got in there fifteen minutes ago!”

“Stop yelling!” she shouted back.

Five minutes later the door slammed open, a scowl still on her face.

“What?” she snapped at Bruce, who was quietly staring at her.

“Nothing,” he said quickly.  “You just look beautiful.”

She paused for a second, and then smiled.

Bullock muttered something that could’ve been “Hormones” under his breath.

Selina rolled her eyes.

She paid attention to everything about the trip to the gala: escape routes, mostly.  But she didn’t _really_ take in anything until they were there under a ceiling that cascaded crystals, and fizzy drinks were in shining glass on gleaming golden trays and Bruce Wayne was standing by her side as a string quartet played.

His fingers were wrapped around something that she couldn’t see, a rusty bronze chain snaking through his fingers.  Some kind of jewelry, probably. A comfort object. A talisman.

She stepped in front of him and caught his gaze with hers, pulling him onto the marbled floor that was rich with flashes of fabric and color, and started to waltz.

“Just breathe,” she said, looking over his shoulder, before meeting his gaze again.  “In and out with the music. You have nothing to worry about.”

He didn’t reply, but his breathing became easier.  

She felt hope when she looked at him, really looked at him.  He belonged here, in this shining world of fine titles and glittering jewels.

And she didn’t.

And billionaires didn’t fall in love with thieves.

 

The quartet finished their song and as polite applause sounded throughout the room, a man stepped up to the podium.  “Thank you to everyone who is here tonight,” he said through the microphone.

He was an unpleasant man, with too many faces; the one that he wore tonight was one that was blandly benign.  Selina didn’t trust him at all.

“Your attendance here means that you have all contributed to the Wayne Foundation, which was created to work in tandem with, and independently of, several other charities.  The Wayne name means something in this city.” Here he paused deliberately and smiled. “It means trust. It means faith in a better world, a better Gotham. We have recently passed the fifth year anniversary of Thomas and Martha Wayne’s tragic deaths and the disappearance of their young son.”  He paused again as a soft, sympathetic murmur rippled through the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor tonight to introduce the man who continued on their legacy.  Who has nurtured that trust and hope, and made the Wayne Foundation a reputable establishment, and rendered the Wayne name unforgettable.  Without further ado, Mr. Alfred Pennyworth.”

Rigorous applause sounded and slowly waned as he took the stand.

“Well, Mr. Galavan certainly has a way with words, doesn’t he?  I’m afraid that I must apologize; I’ve never really ever been one for speeches.”

Small laughter rang quietly through the crowd.  

“I’d just like to thank each of you for helping the Wayne Foundation make a difference,” he said.  “There’s often a big fuss about me keeping the Wayne name alive, but that honor really goes to you.”  He paused and gathered himself, before continuing. “As long as there are people willing to be decent and honest in this world, it keeps the Waynes alive.”  Applause started up again and he waited for it to fade before saying, “Thank you. Please enjoy the rest of the night.”

Music began to play again, and Selina turned her eyes away from the front of the room to Bruce who was still gazing at where Alfred had been standing.

She grabbed ahold of his elbow.  “Come on, let’s go find Bullock.”

As it turned out, Bullock was to be found at Jim’s side, drinking champagne as Jim scowled.

Selina interrupted Bullock’s wild chatter with a decidedly fake cough before announcing, “So when do we get to meet this Pennyworth guy?”

“Whenever Jimbo here decides is proper,” Bullock said, before adding, “You know, you were still a real snooze when we worked together, but you were a _lot_ more fun as a cop.”

Selina asked “You were partners?” at the same time that Bruce looked at Bullock with raised eyebrows and asked, “You were a cop?”

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you that?”  Bullock replied as Jim grimly responded to Bruce, “A disgraced one.”

Bullock winked at Jim.  “I prefer disgraceful.”

Selina closed her eyes. She could practically feel ten years of her life slip away.

Jim walked away.

As she opened her eyes, she saw him enter conversation with Pennyworth across the room.  After a minute she saw Pennyworth nod and walk away as Jim returned back to them.

“I told him that he had a guest who would like to discuss a matter in private with him and that I’d vetted them myself,” he said, looking at Selina.  “Go out the door by the cheese platter table and down the hallway, third door on the left.”

She nodded and started walking, turning around to check that Bruce was behind her.  Bullock was still beside Jim,, deep in excited conversation.

She turned and they had reached the door.

She breathed deeply as she opened the door.

The hallway muted the sounds of the party, and she felt more at ease as the noise slipped away.

She turned to face Bruce and held out a hand to stop him.

“Wait out here for a moment.”  She breathed deeply again, but silently.  “I’m going to introduce you. Properly.”

He hesitated, but nodded.

“Don’t forget to breathe,” she remarked wryly, and a small smile appeared on his face and he nodded again.

She turned to the door, and when she stepped inside and shut the door behind her it felt like an entirely different world.

It was an office space, neat and orderly, but that wasn’t what made it seem so wildly different.

It was the man inside of it.

He seemed rougher in here.  Harsher.

Angrier.

“Mr. Pennyworth,” she said, then considered her next words carefully.  “I am...honored that you are willing to meet with me.”

“Before you go any further, miss,” he said abruptly.  “Neither you nor I belong in these kinds of clothes, nor these kinds of words.  So what is your name, and what do you want.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“My name’s Selina Kyle.  I’m here because I know someone you‘ve been looking for.”

“Bruce Wayne?”  He smiled, but it was harsh and twisted.  “I am not interested in whoever you have standing outside of that door, someone who no doubt looks and acts the part well.”

“That _is_ Bruce Wayne standing outside that door.”

He considered her for a moment before saying, “Miss Kyle, was it?”

She remained silent.

“I’ve heard of you.  You were the one holding auditions for Bruce Wayne look-alikes, weren’t you?” he said, with a cold grin, taking her silence as an answer.  “Miss Kyle, I am an old man and I am tired of this game.”

“You’re a coward,” Selina said without thinking.

Something in his posture changed and he suddenly seemed more dangerous.  He crossed the space as if to exit the room but stopped right as he neared her.

“I’m asking you now to leave the gala.  If you don’t, I will have Mr. Gordon escort you to the street like the criminal that you are.  I pity the young man that you dragged into this. Never try to speak to me again.”

He opened the door and entered the hallway.

Selina felt like the floor had been pulled out from under her feet.  She closed her eyes and breathed out shakily and then opened them as she followed him into the hall.

He had already swept his way back into the gala, the door clicking shut behind him.

“He didn’t even look at me.”

Selina turned to face Bruce.

“Bruce - ”

“You held auditions?” he asked, looking at her with betrayal written all over his eyes.

“You heard through the door?!”

“I have practice, and the door wasn’t thick.  That’s not the _point_ , Selina.”

She met is gaze, as hard as it was.  “Fine. I did. But you _are_ Bruce Wayne.  I’m not lying to you.”

He looked at her with such pain and hatred in his eyes as he said softly, “All you have done is lie to me.”

Selina’s heart staggered and stumbled like she’d been punched, and it cried out to punch back.  To repay the damage dealt.

“It’s not my fault you fell for the con,” she hissed, refusing to let her eyes water.  “Next time, don’t be an easier mark than the target.”

She turned away from him and walked away.

* * *

 Alfred’s shoes hit the last steps of the staircase and he exhaled in relief.  He turned the key into the door of his apartment and stepped inside.

The lamp was on.

He pulled out his gun.

“Jumpy much?”

It was the girl from the party, sitting there still in her dress.  She looked angrier now, less shell-shocked. “I wasn’t lying,” she said with her hands raised, eyes glittering dangerously.  “The boy I found is Bruce Wayne, and I can prove it to you.” She held up one of her hands. “I’m going to reach for something.  It’s not a weapon.”

She reached into a bag by her feet and held out something for him to take.

He lowered his gun.  She lowered her hands.

He looked down at the necklace pooling in his hand.  Pearls. Multiple strands.

He recognized it instantly but lifted it up to look at the clasp anyway.  He carefully studied the inscription.

11 DEC.  for my dear one

“Where did you get this?”

“I picked it up off the alleyway ground.  I took the individual pearls and I restored it to its current condition.  I never once fenced it or pawned it.”

He looked up at her.

“Bruce Wayne escaped the alley that night,” she said, standing up.  “I took his hand and we ran across the rooftops. I didn’t see him fall.”

She walked past him, standing with one hand on the door.  She turned to him, and half-smiled, a smile that wasn’t quite real.

“He’s the kid you’ve been looking for,” she said.  “You should talk to him.”

And then she was gone.

He turned back to look at his hand, and frowned.  The necklace was still there, but now there was a paper in his hand, too.

He unfolded it and studied the scrawled writing before he realized what it was.

It was an address.


	5. chapter five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the longest chapter of this whole thing, weighing at 2.4k words. i truly hope you all enjoy reading this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it :) shout out to hannah for beta-ing as always. what would i do without you

 

Bruce finished folding his extra pair of clothes into his bag, eyes still burning.

The door to the apartment opened, and he bit back a curse before saying, “Go away, Selina.”

He turned around to face her, but he was instead greeted by the sight of a man who he’d only caught the slightest glimpse of earlier.

“Mr. Pennyworth,” he said.  “I apologize. I was expecting someone else.”

“Yes.  Miss Kyle.  She convinced me to talk to you.  She seems to think that you really are that little boy that I lost in that alley all those years ago.”

His discerning grey eyes fell onto Bruce’s.

“Are you?”

Bruce breathed.  

“I don’t know, not for certain.”  He paused with uncertain eyes. “I was hoping you could tell me that.”

There were a few moments of silence as Alfred thoughtfully considered him before he sighed.

“I’m afraid that Bruce Wayne is dead,” he said with a small smile.  “Killed the same night as his mum and dad in that alley. I wish you the best of luck, mate.  Now, if you’ll forgive me, I have a boat to catch.”

His feet made soft thumps against the carpet as he began to leave.

“It’s February 7th.”

The steps halted.

“That it is,” Alfred said, turning back to face him, with a bemused look on his face.

“You’re making the walk through the woods,” Bruce said, feeling the memories edging their way back into his brain, tinged with orange and yellow.

“February 9th, that was the day Father and I walked through the woods,” he said, unaware of eyes filling with tears.  “We made rock piles and added to them each year. And we stayed to watch the sunrise.”

Wordlessly, Alfred reached into his bag and pulled out two smooth stones, and handed one to the young man standing before him.  Bruce’s fingers shakily ran over the stone, as if feeling if it was real.

As he lapsed into silent tears, he felt Alfred’s arms wrap around him and he returned the embrace, feeling something like burning in his heart.

“Steady on, Master Bruce,” Alfred said softly.  “I’ve got you.”

 

Coming back from the dead turned out to be a pretty simple process when you were Bruce Wayne.

Jim frowned at the newspaper declaring the Wayne heir’s triumphant return and looked up over it to see Bullock drinking coffee with raised eyebrows.

“What, you still don’t believe it?”

“Call it the Gotham in me.  We don’t trust easily.”

Bullock set down his coffee.  “Well, look. Does the old man trust him?”

Jim sighed.  “He does.”

“There you go.  You working the announcement palooza?”

“Yeah.”

Bullock took another large swig of coffee before pointedly reaching over the newspaper and tugging it down so that he could meet Jim’s gaze.

“It’s not going to be a problem,” he said.

“Sure.”

“You’ll see,” Bullock said cheekily.  “Nothing’s gonna go wrong.”

 

“Nervous, eh?”  Alfred said to the stormy eyes of the young man standing beside him.

Bruce blinked and turned a little to look at him.

“Other than the gala, I haven’t worn anything like this,” he said.  “In quite some time,” he added.

Alfred waited a few moments before saying, “And it’s not possible that your current demeanor has anything to do with the lack of a certain young woman, does it?”

Surprise flashed in his eyes as Bruce stared at him before it was gone and he flatly said, “You mean Selina.”

He turned back to looking out the massive window.  “No, I am quite content without her here.”

Alfred cast a knowing look towards him.

“And I’m sure that wherever she is, she’s quite content as well,” he said defensively, somewhat bitterly.

Alfred was not a laughing man, so he didn’t laugh.

“She didn’t take the reward money,” he said simply instead.

Bruce turned back to face him, and many expressions flashed across his face.  Disbelief. Hope.

Shock.

“I’ll see you down there in a minute, yeah?” he said as he turned away from Bruce, knowing that the boy wouldn’t reply.

He stopped himself before he left, words burning behind his lips.

“I was quite surprised myself,” he announced, turning one last time to face Bruce, who hadn’t quite shaken the look of shock from his face.

There were so many things that he chose not to say, instead saying.  “She’s not quite who you think she is,” matter-of-factly.

“She’s complicated, yes.  But she has a good heart.”

And with that, he left the room, leaving a struggling, confused heart beating slightly more hopefully than before.

 

That latest click and snap followed by a tiny white explosion left Bruce blinking.  Oh, how he hated this.

He smiled all the same as he shook hands with the elite of Gotham and Metropolis alike, memorizing each of their faces and names.

It was cheerfully loud in the venue, and he dutifully gave a few comments to a young reporter whose smile was fake and carefully constructed.

Bruce respected that.  This world was a world of facades and you couldn’t help but construct a mask of your own here.

The reporter thanked him after a few questions before walking away, just as a tall man made his way towards him.  Bruce faintly recognized him and he ran through the names and faces he’d gathered throughout the night, but couldn’t connect any of them.

“Bruce Wayne,” the man’s smile was wide, if vague and slightly insincere.  He extended his hand to Bruce, who shook it as the man continued.

“My name is Theo Galavan and I just wanted to congratulate you on finding your way home.  There is nothing quite like family, is there?”

Bruce gave him a small smile as a matter of courtesy.  “No. There isn’t.” He was extremely aware of the photographer hovering just far enough away that they seemed to think he wouldn’t notice them.

“I’m the Mayor of Gotham,” Galavan said.  “I also spoke at the Wayne Foundation this year, which I’m told you attended,” and the simmer of recognition resolved itself.  “I was elected just a few weeks ago.”

Another photographer joined the first one in its attempt to discreetly generate political propaganda.   The lost son of Gotham and its mayor. It wasn’t surprising.

Galavan continued speaking, but movement caught Bruce’s eyes.  The second photographer didn’t have the same fluid movements as the other photographer, the same practiced aura of invisibility.  

No.  He was much more dangerous.

The photographer met Bruce’s eyes and grinned.  A wave of deja vu swept over him, and settled in his gut.

And then the cold silver gleam of the gun in his hand appeared.

“Get down!”  Bruce roared as he tackled Galavan, as the bullet whizzed over his head.

Screams sounded, and then the room fell eerily silent.

“Well done, Bruce Wayne!” the man said, and Bruce looked up at him.

Dressed in a suit and tie, a camera slung loosely over his neck, the man was still grinning, with feral joy and glee.

Something inside of Bruce screamed with anger at it.

“Everyone out,” he said, cold rage making him sound calmer than he felt.

The gun spun so that it was pointed at one of the other guests.  “Everybody, please stay!” the gunman said cheerfully. Bruce caught Alfred’s eye from across the room.  Without any other movement, he knew that Alfred had understood him.

He drew closer to the gunman, slowly, as he asked, “What do you want?”

“Me?  You and I have unfinished business, Brucie.”

Everything inside Bruce told him that it was true.

He was face to face with the gunman now.

Bruce smirked coldly.  “Funny. I don’t remember you.”

His arm shot out to disarm the gunman, but the gunman caught his wrist in a vice grip.

“Sweet, but far too predictable.”

Bruce headbutted him and grabbed him by the lapels and threw him through the window.

_ How’s that for predictable? _  Bruce thought darkly.

In moments, Alfred was by his side.

“Evacuate everyone here,” Bruce said calmly.

Walking the few steps left to the window, turning to meet Alfred’s worried gaze.  “I’ll be fine on my own.”

Alfred smiled with a confidence that Bruce could tell he could not quite feel.  “Right, Master B.”

Bruce was about to jump through the window when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Come back this time, eh?”  Alfred said, the same sad smile on his face.

Bruce nodded.

He leapt through the window, coat trailing behind him and giving him some lift.  He bent his knees as he landed on the damp grass of the lawn behind the venue. There was a pile of glass, but the gunman had disappeared.

The clamor and screams of the guests disappeared as they exited the building and ran down the streets, away, anywhere away from here.

Bruce’s sense felt heightened, as he scanned the lawn methodically, ears cataloging every sound that he heard.

He spun around and managed to knock the gun out of the gunman’s hand but caught a fist to the stomach. 

He felt all the air leave his lungs, and the gunman grabbed his shoulders and kneed him in the same place before dropping him unceremoniously to the ground.

As he caught his breath and forced down the nausea that had risen, the gunman retrieved his weapon.

He watched as the man’s shining shoes trailed across the grass.

He got to his knees and stared up at the face of his parents’ killer.

“You,” he said.

“Me,” the killer said back.

He leveled the gun at Bruce’s head.  

Bruce expected the shot to come, but the killer let out an aggravated groan instead.

“Just ask your question.  I can see it in your eyes.  I don’t like killing people with questions in their eyes.”

Bruce was silent for a moment, but when he was sure the killer was being honest, he asked.

“Why?”

“Why these shoes?  Seemed fitting,” he said conspiratorially.  “Or...why I killed your parents?”

He leaned down and gripped Bruce’s shoulder.  “Can I tell you a secret? Well, of course, I can, I’m about to kill you.”  He looked around, even though no one was really there, and leaned in anyway as if someone was.

“I’m an orphan too.”  He leaned back. “Killed mine, though.  Yours was just kind of a practice run.”

“Wanted to see how it felt,” he continued, as a cold feeling seeped into Bruce’s bones.  “Y’know, what does a person’s face look like when they know they’re about to die? Do they get a look in their eyes that just...hm...sings of fear?”

“Then why didn’t you kill me?”

“Well that’s not fair.  I’m trying to kill you now, aren’t I?”

“In the alley, you turned away.  But then you walked back, as if you were coming back to me.  You clearly changed your mind. So what happened?”

The killer’s smile grew.

“I doubt it was a moment of ethics or morality.  You were told not to kill me, and you changed your mind.”

The next words felt foreign on his tongue, like they didn’t belong to him.  Like he was somewhere outside of his body watching it from a distance.

“It was a hit.”

The killer started to laugh.

Deep, uncontrollable laughter.

“Gold star, Blue Blood.  Eh, might as well. You’ll be dead soon enough.  You ever heard the name Theo Galavan?”

The killer grinned darkly.  “Yes, the mayor you saved from me earlier tonight.  You shook his hand!” He cackled again.

The rage that had been building inside Bruce snapped.

He reached out and grabbed the gunman’s wrist and shifted his weight and dislocated the killer’s wrist, forcing the gun out of the killer’s hand.

He was answered by a knife jammed into his side, and he hissed as he yanked it out and spun around, knocking down the killer and burying the knife in the killer’s shoulder.

The killer’s laughter broke off into weak chuckles, and he stopped moving mostly.  Bruce stood up and he felt the beginning of dizziness start ringing in his head. The knife hadn’t gone in deep, but during the past few weeks he’d forgotten what it’d felt like to experience any large amount of blood loss that came from fighting.  He had to get inside, had to...find Alfred. Apply external...pressure to the wound. Get...cops…

Something twisted in his gut as he heard rustling, and he spun around.

The bullet ripped through the outside of his left thigh and his eyes squeezed shut as he let out a shout of pain and fell to the ground.

“I said you were going to die tonight,” the killer hissed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.  “I meant that.”

He raised the gun and he chuckled darkly.

“The prince of Gotham is going to die alone,” he said grandly, before saying much more sinisterly, “Just like his parents.  Helpless and alone.”

“He’s not alone.”

The end of a whip curled around the muzzle of the gun, and yanked it.  Its silver gleam went flying through the air.

Bruce stood and crossed the few feet between him and the gunman and punched him.

The killer fell to the ground and Bruce knew he’d been truly knocked out this time.

“For the record, I would have killed him,” a voice said behind him.

“Mmhmm,” he mumbled as he stepped closer to Selina and kissed her.

_ Finally _ , one part of his brain supplied.

_ Shut up _ , replied the other part.

One of her hands settled casually at his waist and the other around his neck, and honestly, Bruce could have spent all night kissing Selina, but he shifted his weight just a little too much onto his injured leg and was lucky that Selina caught him instinctively.  She wrapped his arm over her shoulders and they slowly made their way back to the building. Sirens began to sound in the distance and Bruce’s dizziness returned, the adrenaline slowly leaving his system.

“Selina?”

“Hmmm?”

“Thanks for saving me.  Now, and before.”

“Uh huh,” she said, as gently set him down on the steps.  He caught her hand before she left.

“I mean it,” he insisted, his vision growing fuzzy.

“How do I repay you?” he said without thinking.

She sighed and reached through his pocket, digging out his cell phone and flipping it open before dialing someone.   _ Probably Alfred _ , he thought vaguely.

“Think of it like this,” she said, after a pause long enough that Bruce thought she wouldn’t answer the question or had forgotten it altogether.  “If you fall, I catch you. If I fall, you catch me.”

She began to speak to the other person on the phone, saying something about “shot, thigh was grazed, stabbed, too…”

If I fall, you catch me.

_ That’s beautiful _ , he thought as he passed out.


	6. chapter six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at the bittersweet end :) thanks to hannah for beta-ing

The night sky was immeasurably black as Alfred peered up at it from the wide window.

The paper, filled with carefully neat handwriting, laid unfolded and read on the small table nearby.

He heard someone clearing their throat from behind him.  It was Jim. Good, dependable Jim Gordon.

“Galavan has been successfully imprisoned,” Jim said.  “With all of the charges added up, the judge said he’ll be serving a life sentence.”

“Justice served,” Alfred said.  “In Gotham of all places.”

“The world is changing,” Jim agreed, joining him at the window.

A few, comfortable moments of silence passed, before Alfred said, “Alright.  Let’s not dally about. Ask your question, mate.”

“Where’s Bruce?  I wanted to tell him the good news.”

“Ah, that young man.  I’ll let him speak for himself.”

Alfred handed the letter to Jim, before standing with his arms clasped behind him.

Jim’s brow furrowed as his eyes swept over the words on the page.

 

_Dear Alfred,_

_It might seem cruel that I’m leaving you so shortly after we were reunited._

_Selina and I are returning to Gotham.  I learned something the night that I met my parents’ killer.  There are always those who will try to break the law and corrupt the world.  Who seek to hurt or harm others._

_Gotham is a lawless place._

_I don’t want anyone to feel like I felt, ever again._

_I won’t kill.  I won’t be a weapon for destruction._

_But Gotham could be good again.  I can see that now. I can feel it.  I can make it right._

_I’m leaving, but we will meet again.  You can follow me if you choose, but if you wish to stay where you are, I won’t blame you.  You have gone through a lot, and no matter what you choose, we will meet again._

_Bruce_   

 

* * *

 

Selina looked over at Bruce, who had leaned back against the wall of the ship with his eyes closed.  She could tell he wasn’t asleep yet.

She looked up at the moon shining brightly in the sky and she scowled, blinking.

The girl to her left smiled softly.  Selina didn’t know her, not really. Bruce had introduced her to Selina as Karen and hadn’t said much else, but she could tell how happy he was that she was there.

(“You can call me Cat,” Selina had told her.

“Well, in that case, you can call me Claw,” Karen had said with a beaming look in her eye.

Selina decided then that she liked her.)

The three stood underneath the moon as the ship crossed through the harbor back into Gotham. 

 

* * *

 

A small postscript giving a name that Jim didn’t recognize was at the end of the letter.

“He’s a brave young man,” Jim said, without looking up.

Alfred smiled.  “Yes, he is, isn’t he?”

“Are you going to follow him?”

“Don’t really think there’s any other choice, is there?”

“The lost son of Gotham returns home only to leave to save the city that killed his parents.  Save it for the innocent and the righteous,” Jim said, almost roughly. “Almost a perfect ending.”

Alfred turned to him.  “Actually, you know what, mate.  I reckon it’s just the beginning.”  

 

* * *

 

To the right, Selina nodded at him.

They dropped to the alley floor.

The fight was quickly over, and as they limped home, Bruce caught Selina looking at him, and he sighed.

“What?”

“Why Matches?”

“When I was living with Karen, she came up with it.  Everyone called her Claw because of her arm, and so I told her that if we both had nicknames we’d be different than everyone else.  Cooler, maybe. I told her she could pick my nickname, because she said it’s better when someone else gives you one. I liked lightning matches.  They calmed me down. Her dad used to get drunk. And angry. She’d give me the box of matches whenever he was.”

He turned back to her.  “Why?”

She shrugged.  “Nothing. I was just thinking back there when we were falling.”

He looked at her wordlessly.

‘You know, people call me Cat.  But you with that coat? You look like a bat.”


End file.
